Creative Writing by Kate Everson

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Sarah Kay is my favorite living modern poet, full stop. I could listen to her all day. “Mrs. Ribeiro” contains stunning imagery and emotion. I gave my mom a hardback copy of “Point B” for Christmas and watched tears well in her eyes as she read it right there under the tree.

But there has always been “Worst Poetry,” one of the first poems I heard her read. At the time it was cute but not my favorite. But as I’ve grown up a bit and experienced new people and relationships, I understand it better.

Her poem deals a lot with love and relationships, but it also points out that there’s a distinct difference between a muse and a supporter: The person she describes in the poem doesn’t make her work better, but they do make her life better. Now is there a strict mutual exclusivity between who inspires you and who encourages you? I’m still figuring that out. Maybe another blog post is coming on that.

But for now, let me say this: Muses can be dangerous. Support is forever beneficial.

Find someone who makes you want to work on your art. Who wants to be there while you work on it but knows art takes solitude sometimes. Who is is open to examining your art but doesn’t ask to see it. Who’s patient when you say you think it’s crap but knows better than to say “It isn’t!” even when they haven’t read it.

And get rid of the mofos who take pride in causing your writer’s block. I’ve known those people before. They suck, and we no longer talk.

I should be editing the full manuscript of my book, Omaha, before sending it out to my beta reader book club, but I’m not. At first I thought my procrastination was out of exhaustion — I dedicated the entire month of November and first week of December 2017 to it, and since then have burned out on it. It happens.

This was the second time I had seen her refer to the love she has for Bri — even going so far as to say she likes her more than The Hate U Give‘s main character, Starr. I remember feeling that way about some of the characters I wrote back when I was penning books while pretending to be taking notes in freshman year of high school. But with Omaha, I can’t say the same.

The fact is, none of my characters evoke my love. Or any feeling, for that matter. Omaha, Plunder, Varsity and Flax are like the people I hung out with in middle school: Now that the obligation to stick with them is over, they bore me and I have little to say to them (or make them say to each other, as the case of writing has it). It’s not a tangible feeling like hate or dislike, but one of indifference, which is possibly even worse because it means I have to build emotion from scratch instead of just tweak it from one thing to another. Unlike when I used to write in high school, no amount of dream casting has helped — though I’ll admit it’s a nice diversion envisioning Samira Wiley, Benedict Cumberbatch, Stephanie Beatriz and Lin-Manuel Miranda armed to the teeth with skill-enhancing microchips in their brains and running around post-exodus Chicago streets.

So thanks to Thomas, I’m going back to my draft to see where I became numb to these characters and figure out ways to fall back in terrible, conflicted love with them. How can I expect readers to feel something for them if their own creator is indifferent?

In Part Two of my year-end wrap-up, I’m looking at the scenes from this year’s television and film debuts that had a particular influence on my writing. Note that like my music list, these aren’t all my favorites of the year — Get Out, Baby Driver, Atomic Blonde and Stranger Things Season 2 are noticeably missing — but these are some of the scenes that really got to the writer in me. It also only includes releases from this year, not discoveries: Otherwise Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Arrival would have probably dominated.

Television

“Feeling Good” from Legion (FX)

Nina Simone’s opening vocals during this part because could only mean one thing: smouldering mischief. Bassnectar’s remix of her classic song has always been a favorite, but watching Noah Hawley’s use of it in his X-Men adaptation — and Aubrey Plaza’s decadent interpretation of it as mind parasite Lenny — showed that a smart writer/showrunner can inject a borderline burlesque number into anything.

Note that the entire season of Legion could be added to this list because of its smart, adventurous take on the superhero origin story. Not only did it carry with it complex female characters, but it also blended the absurd with the expected into a series that left the viewer feeling both confused and intelligent.

“Unfair,” A Handmaid’s Tale Episode 1.6 (Hulu)

Hulu’s series stretches Atwood’s novel to fill a series — and a second, coming in April 2018 — and in doing so indicts even more of today’s culture that reflects its dystopia. When Aunt Lydia asks certain handmaids to return to the van because their injuries and disabilities (most of which are the result of her punishments) aren’t attractive enough to present to the visiting Mexican delegation, it’s a reminder of how even in our fiction we tend to “clean up” our casts unless a particular disability plays a role in the story.

Of course, not every author does this. John Green’s Turtles All the Way Down looks at a teenage girl with an anxiety disorder but focuses on her story, not her mental health; Mad Max: Fury Road features a protagonist with a prosthetic that’s rarely a topic of discussion. But in less than two minutes of television, writers are asked whether they’re as guilty of ableism as Aunt Lydia.

“Paterfamilias,” The Crown Episode 2.9 (Netflix) **SPOILER**

I just saw this last night, but it’s going to stick with me for a while. In Season 2’s ninth episode, we learn a terribly sad backstory about Philip that explains some of his awful parenting skills: The death of his sister. Instead of letting it be a static, quiet moment, however, the show thrusts audiences into young Philip’s thought process as he imagines what it was like for his favorite sister, who was afraid to fly, to give birth mid-flight and then die in a plane crash. Rupert Gregson-Williams’ score and a cadre of imagery as 16-year-old Philip explores the chaotic wreckage and hears his sister’s cries in his mind shows how showing, not telling, is critical to the storytelling process.

Film

Wonder Woman (DC/Warner Brothers)

Yep, the whole damn thing. From the “No Man’s Land” sequence listed on multiple best-ofs this year and alleyway fight that shows Diana (Gal Gadot) saving Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) from a bullet a la Superman, to the improvised conversation they have about female reproduction and sexual needs and 50-something Robin Wright’s appearance as an Amazon general, every moment of this movie made me excited for a future full of female protagonists who have depth, strength, humor, motivation and compassion — and aren’t described only as “bad-ass.”

Every imagination sequence in The Incredible Jessica James (Netflix)

This year we finally got a full-length feature starring former Daily Show contributor and personal hero Jessica Williams. When it ended, I stood up in my empty apartment and gave a round of applause because it’s feminist, honest, inspiring and makes me want to be a better writer and person in general. But the most standout parts of it are the titular playwright’s imagination sequences of her ex confessing his love for her and then dying in increasingly dramatic ways. As a writer, these fake conversations with real people are all too familiar.

The Disaster Artist (A21)

Despite its ridiculous real-life protagonist, Tommy Wiseau, The Disaster Artist never stoops to make fun of him, but rather portray him as the eccentric dreamer who went from joke to legend by making one of the worst films ever made. When Tommy Wiseau (James Franco) leaves the theater where the audience is cackling at his comically bad romantic drama, Franco’s performance and direction turns a ridiculous character into someone who is more than a multiple-belt-wearing, ambiguously accented, mysteriously wealthy eccentric. Suddenly The Disaster Artist audience is shamed for laughing at Tommy throughout the rest of the picture. It’s emotional manipulation at its best since Gone Girl, but instead of viewers feeling betrayed, they feel as if they’ve done the betraying.

Honorable mention: First trailer forA Wrinkle in Time

I watch this trailer once a week and the chills don’t stop. Madeline D’Engel was past 40 when she finally got this book published. Ava DuVernay translated it with a rich, diverse cast that shows the impenetrable flexibility of strong fiction. Is it March 2018 yet?

With all the year-end lists of best musical contributions made in 2017, here’s one specially geared toward writers looking for that symphonic oomph that makes fights, chases, discoveries, deceptions, romance and deaths materialize on the page. Note that this list doesn’t include all my favorites of the year — Kendrick Lamar’s Damn. is a work of art, but not necessarily writing music for this creative (yet) — but covers the best inspiration found pumping through my speakers.

Synthesis by Evanescence: Not a new album per se but a reimagining of the band’s past work using orchestral and electronic arrangements, mostly for better and sometimes for worse. Forgettable B-sides from The Open Door and their 2012 self-titled album become dramatic character themes that are tinged with beautiful agony thanks to Amy Lee’s undying vocals. Notable tracks include “Never Go Back,”“Hi-Lo” and “The End of the Dream.”

Best Vocal Track:

“Wonderful Wonderful” by The Killers

“Wonderful Wonderful” by The Killers: Blend the right amount of echo, deep drumbeats and Jefferson Airplane mysticism, and you’ve got the titular track of The Killers’ 2017 track that fits the titular character of the project I spent the most time on this year.

Honorable mentions:

“Drew Barrymore” by SZA: Everything from the opening line “Why is it so hard to accept the party is over?” to the refrain “Am I woman enough for you?” sums up the kind of relationship I wrote about most this year.

“Young and Menace” by Fall Out Boy: Forget everything you know about the “Dance, Dance” alternative band of the aught-2000s. Beat drops, high energy, strobe lights you can practically hear: Everything about this track screams superhero/mutant fight with a teen-emo bend steeped in acid.

“Supermarine” by Hans Zimmer: If there’s one thing the German composer does well (and there are millions of things he does well — trust me, I saw him perform live in August), it’s instilling a sense of urgency into his music. Dunkirk’s key track does just this by syncing listeners’ pulses to the quickening beat that acts as a perfect backdrop to a time’s-running-out situation.

“Think” by Kaleida: Shallow and soulful all at the same time, Kaleida’s track plays ironic backup to one of the bloodiest scenes in John Wick and provides the same quiet but sinister word-per-beat promise of “Think on me; I’ll never break your heart” to any investigation montage or illicit affair scene.

Treats by Sleigh Bells: Here’s some loud chainsaw music that wrecks headphones and amps alike and is the base soundtrack for writing Mad Max: Fury Road meets Mean Girls.

I found myself self writing a villain’s monologue to this piece while sitting in a dark room last night, which seems appropriate given what happens during this part of Christopher Nolan’s “Insterstellar.” The Mozart-influenced piece builds as the drama does:

“She’s like a mouse in a maze. She knows where the center is, but she also knows that the bigger rat following her is more interested in keeping her from the prize than earning it for himself. So she runs along a small patch, hoping that it’s enough to keep him at bay while also close enough for her to make her move given the chance. If he — I — ever give her a chance, that is.”

This far into NaNoWriMo, forget about the pressure to make that 50,000 word mark when you’re only at 20,000 (ahem). A lot of us start thinking that the project we’re working on isn’t worth the kilobytes it’s taking up in the cloud. I know I’ve fallen into that trap multiple times in the last hour of writing, let alone the last three weeks or even three months I’ve been preparing.

Right about now in the NaNoWriMo process, it’s time to whip out a never-on-Broadway musical called [Title of Show], the story of a team writing a musical about a team writing a musical — and both struggling profoundly. One of the best songs from it is “Die Vampire, Die!” during which actress Susan encourages her compatriots to pull a Van Helsing on creative vampires, or “any person, thought or feeling that stands between you and your creative self expression.” These include “pygmy vampires” that fly around your head like gnats reminding you that others have done what you’ve done before you and better than you; “air freshener vampires” that keep you from writing things that your grandmother wouldn’t be pleased to see on paper under your byline; and the mother of all vampires, the “vampire of despair,” that presents itself as your own lack of self-confidence:

“It’ll wake you up at four in the morning to say things like ‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’ ‘You look like a fool.’ ‘No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough.’ Why is it that if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform and said these things, I would think he was a mentally ill asshole, but if the vampire inside my head says it, it’s the voice of reason?”

Seventeen days into my 30-day writing marathon, and the vampires have suddenly become impervious to sunlight, makeshift crucifixes and garlic bread — they appear at every turn, and it’s easy to let them tear apart my work with their fangs. But then I remember that the pencil I’m using to check plot points off on my outline is technically a wooden stake, so I’m already equipped to destroy Count Don’t-ula of Procrastylvania and his clutch of your-work-sucks-ubi (As in “succubi?” Get it?)

So here’s a reminder, in case you need it at this past-halfway point:

Your self-expression matters.

Your creative space matters.

Don’t let the vampires get you down.

The song is below, and it’s a catchy tune to play while writing your way over the word count hump.

Chicago’s Holy Name Cathedral sits among one of the high-rent areas in the River North neighborhood.

The cathedral held its ground against the high rises that have shot up like weeds around it, blocking the sun from the stained glass windows that used to share their kaleidoscope hope with the rest of the city when it knew better than to try to touch the sky with iron and steel.